Page 116 of Dissonance

“Aye,” he murmurs. “They do.”

A server with a silver tray walks past, and Cooper flags her down, her eyes going comically wide when she realizes who he is. He chuckles, popping a mini tartlet into his mouth before doing the same to Declan. Glancing toward us, he nods at the plate.

“These are awesome. You need to try them.”

I reach out, pausing, my hand mid-air, my breath catching for half a second as whatever that was passes, the sensation pulling across my abdomen, easing just as quickly.

“Alright?” Lockie asks, a small frown pulling between his eyebrows.

“Yeah.” I brush it off and lift the canapé to my lips. “Just hungry.”

By dessert, I can’t get comfortable at all. The chair’s too hard, too upright, the table too far away to reach anything properly. Huffing, I shift again, the fifth time in as many minutes, and Lockie notices every single one, arm across the back of my chair, watching me with quiet, steady attention.

“Do you want a cushion?”

“I’m not eighty,” I grumble.

“No, you’re about to have a baby. You’re bound to be uncomfortable.”

I glare at him, his mouth twitching in reply as he kisses my temple, his free hand sliding over my knee under the table. I focus on that instead, on the warmth of it, on the sound of chatter around us, the clink of cutlery, the music drifting in from somewhere.

The cramping sensation comes again, stronger this time. I stop mid-chew, fingers tightening around my fork, and wait it out, counting in my head. Lockie doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his gaze fixed on me, long after I’ve started eating again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’d like to make your way to the dance floor, we’re about to cut the cake.”

People move around me, but I stay seated, this one not catching me off guard. My shoulders tense as I smile at someone I don’t know, breathing in slow, deep bursts as it rolls through me. I don’t speak, back to counting, hoping I look like I’m watching Paige and Maddox feed each other pieces of cake.

I will not ruin this day. I am not the woman who goes into labor at someone else’s wedding.

Music starts up, louder this time, no doubt the first dance. I latch onto it instantly. This is probably a bad idea; my back aches, my feet hurt, my entire body feels like it’s punishing me for something, but I push my plate away anyway and turn to face Lockie.

“Dance with me?”

“Thea—”

“Please?”

He exhales and pushes back his chair, helping me to my feet. “One dance.”

Smiling, I take his hand as we join the other couples surrounding Paige and Maddox. Lockie’s hand settles at my waist, and I wrap my arms around his neck, moving in time with the slow beat.

“Have I told you how handsome you are in your kilt?”

His mouth curves. “Like it, lass?”

I lean back to look at him properly. The tartan sits low on his hips, deep greens and blues shifting with every step, brushing against his thighs in a way that should not be as distracting as it is. The leather sporran, the open-collared shirt, sleeves pushed up his forearms.

“Mmm,” I hum, stepping back into him. “I really do— Fuck.”

My grip tightens on his shoulders, my body folding slightly into him, forehead pressing into his chest, and I breathe—counting—while the song plays on around us, nobody noticing a thing.

Lockie’s arms tighten, one hand firm at my waist, the other bracing my back. He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to pull me somewhere private, just holds me and waits. It takes longer to pass this time, and when it finally eases, I stay there, face tucked into his chest, catching my breath.

“Talk to me, Thea,” he whispers, lips at my temple.

I let out a shaky breath. “I thought I could get through one song. But I don’t think I can.”

“What?”